


Exaction

by SnubbingApollo



Series: Conjugation [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Food Porn, Hand Feeding, Insecurity, Light Bondage, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Praise Kink, Spanking, negotiation, sub space, why do rarepairs keep happening to me?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 11:00:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4017241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnubbingApollo/pseuds/SnubbingApollo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas has been watching Dorian. He’s watched him on missions with the Inquisitor, in the tavern, in the library, and he’s noticed several disturbing trends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Initiation

**Author's Note:**

> The OC used for Skyhold's Head Archivist belongs to [Krem-de-le-creme](Http://krem-de-le-creme.tumblr.com). They graciously allowed me temporary use of her as well as their editing skills. All remaining errors are mine.

Solas has been watching Dorian. He’s watched him on missions with the Inquisitor, in the tavern, in the library, and he’s noticed several disturbing trends.

Dorian is reckless. Not with others, never with others, but with himself. He often gets much closer to enemies than is necessary or advisable for a mage. He focuses his barriers on the others in the group to his own detriment. He taunts the people around him, purposely trying to anger them. Iron Bull is so far the only one who have never risen to the challenge and this seems only to make him try harder. 

He loses himself in his work, often forgetting to eat and sleep and spends days at a time in the library conversing with no one but himself. He drinks far too often, sometimes to the point of throwing up, though never while he knows someone else is present. He’ll complain loudly and boisterously about anything that isn’t really bothering him but when an injury or a problem is serious, he mentions it to no one. He acts out purposely, putting on a show of being flippant and uncaring, but once dove straight into a raging river, armor and all, to save a little girl and spent an hour crying in his tent when she’d drowned before he could get to her.

Currently, the elf is observing Dorian from over the brim of his teacup as he tosses another book carelessly over his shoulder. There’s a huff from across the library and the sound of clicking heels as Isabelle notices and charges over. Solas sighs. This will not be good.

“Lord Dorian, you can’t- really I must protest!” she says.

“Can you do it elsewhere, dear? I’m afraid I’m rather busy at the moment.”

“Now see here!” the librarian yells, her Antivan accent echoing through the building. “I have tolerated your disruptions for long enough. You’ve practically made camp in the East alcove, you eat there, you sleep there, and you leave books there for weeks. You rearrange my shelving, you mutter to yourself at all hours-,” she rants. Dorian interrupts her with a sigh, clearly unperturbed.

“Really, Isabelle, consider your blood pressure.”

“Don’t talk to me about my blood pressure! If I have problems with my _blood pressure_ it’s your fault. You are going to start treating this library with respect, Mr. Half Shirt, or you’ll have to find books somewhere else!”

“Mr. Half shirt?” Dorian asks with an arched eyebrow. Isabelle’s features are swallowed by a blush and she stutters for a moment before turning on her heel and retreating.

“Well that was odd,” Dorian mutters to himself after she’s gone. Solas sighs and places his teacup back in the saucer before standing. This cannot be allowed to continue.

He walks up to Dorian and without looking at the man or slowing his pace says simply, “Come with me.”

He doesn’t look back to see if Dorian is following. He knows he is. He leads the human down the stairs to the room he’s staked out as his own. Dorian pauses in the doorway looking at Solas suspiciously. Solas pulls the chair away from his desk and turns it towards Dorian.

“Sit,” he says gesturing to it. Dorian hesitates.

“Solas, what-?”

“Sit.”

Dorian moves slowly but he obeys, sitting awkwardly in the chair and visibly trying not to fidget. Solas walks around in front of Dorian and looks down at him.

“I have been watching you,” he says matter-of-factly. Dorian’s brow furrows before he hides it under a smirk.

“Well, I am very watchable, I can see how your gaze would be drawn-.”

“Hush.”

Dorian instantly falls silent at the command even as confusion flickers across his features again. Solas nearly sighs. It was criminal of him to wait this long.

“You have a need, Dorian,” he says. Dorian arches an eyebrow and opens his mouth as though to speak but Solas gives him a stern look and he quiets under it. “You are lonely, but you purposely keep those around you at a distance. You do not care for yourself, in battle or here in Skyhold. You are a man of deep feeling and great compassion for others but you allow those emotions no outlet.”

“Well you seem to have me entirely figured out,” Dorian returns flustered at finding himself so exposed and hiding it with anger.

“I don’t believe I do. I know more than others perhaps, but I feel those who truly know you are few. I do, however, see you. I see you neglecting yourself, and I would help if I could.”

“And how exactly to you propose to, what, save me from myself?” the human asks caustically.

“As I said, you have a need. Specifically, a need for direction, discipline, and affection. A firm hand. I believe I can fill that need.”

Dorian glares.

“Do you think me some sort of child? I don’t need, or want, _handling_ ,” he spits.  
“If that’s true, why are you still in the chair?” Solas asks calmly. Dorian sputters for a moment before standing so quickly the chair slides across the floor and almost falls backwards.

“Now see here, elf-,” the man starts, drawing himself up to his full height and pointing a finger at Solas’ chest. The other mage interrupts him before he get up steam, ignoring the disparaging use of his race for the defense mechanism he knows it is.

“If you truly do not wish my assistance that is your choice, it will be as though this conversation never happened. We will both continue as we were. However, if you do,” he pauses for a moment pinning Dorian with his gaze, “you will apologize, _sincerely_ , to Head Archivist Cortez for the manner in which you have treated her and her space. You will then eat a full dinner and come straight here after. I will be waiting for you.”

Dorian falters for a moment, not moving. He stares at Solas assessing him carefully before sneering at him.

“I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you,” he says quietly before turning on his heel and marching out of the room.

Solas watches the man implement his dramatic exit, complete with a slamming door, with a frown. Dorian’s mask is so finely constructed, that the poor boy has begun to confuse it for his face. He shakes his head. Dorian will come, or he will not, Solas has no control over than now. He casts his eye about the room, planning. 

He has preparations to make.


	2. Implementation

Dorian storms out into the courtyard fuming. How dare that presumptuous oaf. You have a need indeed. What did Solas know of Dorian’s needs? They’d barely had a civil conversation. The arrogant elf knew nothing about him at all. 

“ _A firm hand_ he says,” the mage mutters under his breath. “I’ve a mind to show him a _firm hand_. Right across his smug face. _Apologize_ , he says. _You will_ , he says.” Dorian scoffs derisively. As if Dorian would fall in line simply because the blasted arse told him to.

And if he happened to be heading to the stables, where he happened to know Isabelle went when she was upset? Well, that was just coincidence. Of course Dorian was going to apologize. He’d behaved abominably. He would have done it whether Solas had told him to or not. He was not some dog to be ordered about, no. He was a grown man and he made his own decisions.

He forcibly calmed himself as he neared the stables drawing several deep breaths and schooling the fury off his features, before entering.

“Isabelle?” he called. The woman turned from where she was stroking a destrier to look at him. She blushed when she realized who it was who’d called her and turned back to the horse.

“Can I help you, Lord Dorian?” She asks, stiffly. Dorian sighs.

“I came to apologize,” Dorian says. That gets her attention and she turns back to him with a skeptical expression.

“You were right,” the mage continues. “I have been disrespectful of both you and your space. I promise to behave in a more fitting manner in the future, and humbly ask your forgiveness.” Dorian gives a little bow as he speaks and when he rises again Isabelle’s blush has returned.

“Oh. Well,” she says, falteringly. “I suppose that’s alright, then.” She turns back to the horse and takes up stroking it again, somewhat more vigorously this time.

Dorian takes pity on the woman’s obvious discomfort and nods before turning to leave. He means to go back to the library. Really he does, at the very least he has some straightening to do in his alcove, but he finds his feet carrying him to the tavern. It is getting rather late and dinner would be lovely. Again this is _pure_ coincidence. Dorian is in no way following orders, because he does not _do_ following orders and even he did he would certainly not follow ones tossed at him from smug arrogant men who dress like they haven’t seen civilization in decades.

***

Dorian is standing outside the entrance to the lower levels of the library. Dorian is forced to recognize that his plausible deniability is running thin. He stands outside the door staring at it intently. Every few moments his hand will reach out and stop just shy of the door knob before returning to his side. 

He is not doing this. Why would he do this? He needs nothing from Solas. He needs nothing period. He is a grown man. He has absolutely no desire to hear Solas’ voice like that again. The way his deep tenor had flowed around the commands; calm, smooth, brooking no arguments and assuming obedience.

It was not attractive in the slightest. It was arrogant and presumptive and Dorian had absolutely no intention of being subjected to it again.

He is not doing this.

Dorian opens the door.

Solas is sitting in his armchair. He turns when he hears the door open and gives Dorian a small smile. The human closes the door and hovers awkwardly just inside. Solas closes the book he was reading and stands motioning for Dorian to come closer. Dorian’s feet move without his conscious input until he’s standing just in front of the elf.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” Dorian says softly. Solas merely shakes his head in response.

“The first rule of this is that you must not lie to me, Dorian,” he says. The Tevinter shifts on his feet, uncomfortably.

“There are rules?” he asks.

“Yes. If we do this you will be truthful and honest with me, you will answer questions quickly, and you will not seek to hide yourself.”

“What exactly is _this_?” Dorian asks waving a hand in a vague gesture between the two of them.

“It is whatever you need it to be,” Solas answers.

“And you decide what I need?”

The elf shakes his head.

“No. I cannot read your mind, Dorian. That is why it is vital you are always open with me and tell me the truth. I cannot know your needs unless you let me see them. I can make educated guesses but those guesses will not always be correct.”

Dorian frowns shuffling on his feet again.

“I’m not very good at… openness,” he says softly.

“I never would have guessed,” Solas says with a small smile. Dorian finds a smile coming to his own face at the joke. “It will get easier with time, as trust grows.”

“Trust?”

“We cannot do this unless you trust me, Dorian,” Solas tells him, voice serious. “It will only work if you can feel safe around me.”

Dorian swallows thickly and nods.

“Anything else?” he asks. Is he really doing this?

“Choose a word, something you’ll remember that is unlikely to come up in general conversation. If you say it, whatever we’re doing will stop, immediately.”

“I can’t just use stop?”

“You might want to be able to do that without truly calling things to a close. For some, it can some things easier, or more enjoyable.”

Dorian’s brow furrows wondering what sort of situation that would entail but nods his understanding.

“Maleficar,” he says simply, surprised at the ease with which the word comes to him. Solas nods, satisfied.

“You apologized to Head Archivist Cortez?” He asks. Dorian nods. “And you have eaten?”

“Yes.”

Solas nods in satisfaction.

“Very good. Follow me,” he says turning to the door.

“We’re not doing… whatever this is here?” Dorian asks.

“We will want privacy,” Solas explains.

Dorian follows the elf through the castle and into a room that upon inspection he determines is most likely Solas’ private quarters.

“I always assumed you just slept in that chair,” Dorian mutters looking about the room. It’s not overly large, homey without being small; full without being cluttered. It’s… nice.  
Solas goes over to the hearth and stokes the fire which had begun to die down in his absence. That done he lifts the pillow from the chair situated in front of it and takes a seat, laying the pillow on the ground to his right. He turns back to Dorian who is still standing, somewhat awkwardly, near the entrance to the room. He motions to the pillow and Dorian arches an eyebrow.

“You expect me to sit on the floor?” he asks.

“I expect you to kneel on the pillow,” Solas answers. Dorian tenses at the words but Solas simply lifts a book from the chair’s armrest, opens it and begins to read. Dorian continues to stand there for a moment, fighting with himself. Solas pays him no mind, all his attention on the book. The elf can’t possibly expect him to kneel there and stare into space while he reads. Can he?

Dorian takes a wavering step forward and then another, slowly walking to the chair. He hovers for a moment in indecision before lowering himself to his knees on the pillow. His face flushes bright red at the indignity of it, and all his muscles are tense. The position puts him right next to Solas’ knees and he can’t see the elf’s face. He turns his head slowly, but his gaze only make it to Solas’ hands before he’s caught.

“Eyes forward,” Solas says and Dorian obeys before he can think. How could Solas have noticed he was moving so quickly? Was the other mage staring at him? Dorian’s hands clench into fists on his thighs and he shifts nervously. A gentle hand slides up his neck and into his hair stroking gently.

“Peace, Da’len,” the elf says softly. “Relax.”

Easy for him to say, Dorian thinks. Still, he takes a deep breath and allows the exhale to ease the tension in his muscles, unclenching his fist and sitting back more comfortable on his heels. Solas makes a noise of approval, his hand still stroking through the human’s hair.

“Very good,” Solas says echoing his words from earlier. Just like before the praise has a curious effect on Dorian easing the rest of the tension from his limbs.

Dorian stares into the fire and finds his racing thoughts beginning to calm. Between the warmth of the fire and Solas’ gentle hand in his hair he finds himself growing surprisingly relaxed. He closes his eyes and allows himself to drift.

Solas’ hand leaves him and he jolts out of his calm a noise of distress leaving him as he tenses again. Before he can work himself up too badly, however the hand returns and Solas’ soothing voice reaches his ears again.

“Shhh, I am here. I am not leaving you, Dorian, merely turning the page.”

Dorian blushes furiously, at his own reaction. To become so upset because the elf had let go of him for just a moment. It was ridiculous. The elf’s long fingers caress his hair for a moment longer as he relaxes before he speaks again.

“Alright?”

Dorian nods, still blushing at his childish reaction, and Solas raises his hand again. There’s the sound of shuffling paper and then the hand returns, taking up its soothing motions again. Dorian shivers and can’t help but lean into it. Solas lets out a noise of appreciation and Dorian shivers again at the sound.

He loses track of time, kneeling there at the elf’s feet. He feels warm and safe and his mind is so quiet. His usually racing thoughts are all but absent, leaving a calm silence behind. At some point he feels something beneath his cheek and realizes that he’s leaned over so that his head is resting on Solas’ leg.

The elf’s hand stills its stroking and for a moment Dorian fears he’s done something wrong, crossed some sort of line. He tenses wondering if Solas is going to pull away and call an end to this, and he knows he should be concerned by how much the thought of that distresses him but the emotions can’t seem to reach him in this serene state. Despite his fears, however, Solas does not pull away.

“I thought you would be so sweet,” the elf whispers, his voice sounding awed. His fingers slide gently through Dorian’s hair, the tips caressing his ear and the human lets his eyes fall closed again, his worries fleeing. “Such a good boy.”

The words send a shudder up Dorian’s side and he presses his face harder into Solas’ leg, feeling his cheeks burn with a blush again.

Perhaps when this is over he’ll be able to find it in himself to be concerned by his reactions but for now he is more content than he’s been in months and he’s more than happy to bask in Solas’ voice and the warmth of his room. He’s going to enjoy this while he can.


	3. Trepidation

Solas and Dorian have developed something of a routine. Every night Dorian eats dinner and then is at Solas’ rooms by seventh bell. The he kneels at the elf’s side, sometimes for as little as an hour sometimes the whole evening until it’s time to retire to his own room. Sometimes Solas reads, sometimes he sips at a cup of tea, sometimes he simply stares into the fire. 

Dorian can’t help but wonder what the elf gets out of it. The Tevinter has slept better since they started this than he has in months. He’s remembering to eat, he’s calmer, and less nervous around the other members of the inquisition. He’s starting to make friends with some of them, even the commander seems to enjoy his company now that he’s not hiding in the library. But he can’t figure out why Solas is doing it. The more he thinks about it the more it confuses and stresses him. He’s been on edge all day and he got no work done, rereading the same paragraph over and over for nearly ten minutes before he finally gave up and surrendered to his brooding.

By the time it came near seventh bell and he was standing outside Solas’ door Dorian had worked himself into a ball of nerves. He hesitates in the hall, reluctant to enter for the first time since that first night.

Finally he sighs and shakes his head at himself, knocking on the door.

“Enter,” comes Solas’ smooth voice from inside. Just the sound of it calms Dorian's nerves somewhat. Solas has a book again this evening, though a different one than last time. He smiles at Dorian over it as the human crosses the room to his side. Dorian takes his place on the pillow with none of the hesitance of the first night and Solas’ hand immediately moves to card through Dorian’s hair. Normally this would be when Dorian began to drift, that sense of peace and safety washing over him. Tonight however, the silence of the room only makes his thoughts louder.

Why is Solas doing this? What does he get out of it? Surely it can’t be so enjoyable for him, sitting there petting Dorian for hours. They don’t know each other well enough for it to be altruism, and Solas had never seemed to care for him very much before this, though that was admittedly mostly Dorian’s own fault, constantly putting his foot in his mouth with regards to the status of elves of in Tevinter and that farce of a conversation about using spirits as slaves. Could that be it? Was Solas simply enjoying putting a Tevinter mage on his knees for a change? But if that were the case why be so kind about it? Why stroke his hair and praise him? Why let it go on so long before revealing the trick and mocking him? Was he saving that for a day when Dorian made him truly angry? Was he waiting for the human to grow attached so it would be all the more humiliating? Was he planning on using this as leverage or blackmail?

Dorian shifted on the pillow having now worked himself up into a state of real agitation.

“Be still,” Solas says softly from the chair. His voice is calm and not loud, but the fact that it is a command is not in question. Dorian tries to still himself but his thoughts won’t stop racing. Solas’ fingertips slide along the back of his neck and where normally Dorian would lean into the touch, now he leans forward and tenses his shoulders under it. He raises a hand to catch Solas’ wrist before he realizes what he’s doing and turns to face the elf.

Solas has abandoned his book and is looking down at him, but it isn’t anger at the disobedience that Dorian finds there, but concern.

“I-,” Dorian starts but falters unsure if he’s allowed to speak. Solas nods for him to continue. “I seem to be having some difficulty.”

“Do you know why?” Solas asks. He hasn’t pulled away from Dorian’s touch on his wrist and his voice is gentle. Dorian could confess, let all his worries come tumbling out of his mouth, but his fear stops his speech. What if he’s right? What if he voices his fears and Solas confirms them? Or what if it’s all been genuine and Solas is so offended at the suggestion that he ends it? In the end Dorian simply shakes his head lamely. Solas nods in understanding and Dorian’s stomach twists at how easily the elf believes him. “Would you like me to help you?”

Dorian nods squeezing Solas’ wrist without realizing it, unconsciously looking for comfort.

“I will need you to release me, Da’len.”

Dorian blushes and lets go of Solas. The elf rises and moves to a chest in the corner of the room. He rummages inside for a moment before pulling out a long length of rope. He walks back to Dorian’s side and holds it out for the human to examine. Dorian slides his fingers along it surprised by how smooth it is.

“Would you allow me to tie you with this?”

Dorian swallows thickly. He’d seen that coming, obviously, but hearing the elf _say_ it was something else entirely. If Solas is planning on humiliating him this would certainly make it easier. He remembers the ease with which Solas had accepted his lie and nods slowly.

“You remember your word?” Solas asks. Dorian nods again and the elf moves around behind him. “Hands behind your back.”

Dorian takes a deep breath and does as he’s told. Solas gently takes hold of Dorian’s hands and wraps the rope around them tying them securely but comfortably. When he’s finished Dorian tests the knots pulling and twisting his wrists. They hold firm. Dorian expects him to tie the end of the rope off to the chair but he doesn’t. He simply stands and sits down picking his book back up with the hand holding the end of the rope and sliding the other back into Dorian’s hair.

Dorian's breath hitches at the sight of the rope resting there, held in the elf’s hand like a leash. He’s caught and there’s no point in fighting because he’s not going anywhere. He has no choice but to give in. He finally relaxes sighing and leaning into Solas’ leg the way he usually does.

“That’s better,” Solas says softly. “Good boy.” Dorian shivers.

Later that night, alone in his bed he thinks of the lie, and the look on Solas’ face, so trusting, when he’d simply nodded and believed it without a second thought and he feels sick.


	4. Supplication

The next day Dorian buries himself in his work. He tries not to think about what happened the night before, but he’s woefully unsuccessful. The worries from before are still clamoring in his mind and now on top of those, he has new concerns. 

He’d lied to Solas, and the elf had believed him without a second thought. The first rule Dorian had been given was that he was not to lie, and he’d broken it. And to make matters worse Solas had helped him, known exactly how to make it easier on him.

He’d called Dorian good. No one had ever called Dorian good. It had been years since anyone had bothered to hold him to any kind of standard. Everyone knew not to expect things from him, that he couldn’t be trusted or counted on. Everyone but Solas. Except he would know too now, wouldn’t he?

Dorian could just not tell him, of course, but the idea of Solas continuing to be so kind to him, treating him like something precious and calling him good, all the while not knowing that it hadn’t even taken a week and half for Dorian to betray his trust is too terrible. Still, Dorian can’t imagine going to him and admitting it. Looking the man in the face and seeing the disappointment form there as he confesses.

It grows dark outside as Dorian huddles in his alcove and tries to get _something_ productive done. He doesn’t notice as the point where he would usually stop and go to track down dinner comes and passes. He doesn’t emerge from his thoughts until he hears the ringing outside. Seven tolls from the bell tower. He’s late. 

He hovers for a moment in terrible indecision. He could just not go. Let Solas know without saying anything that this is over. The elf would be disappointed surely but not as much as he would be when he learned what Dorian had done. Eventually, they would pick up their tentative friendship again and it would be as though nothing had changed. 

And every time he saw Solas from this point on would be another lie. 

Dorian drags himself up from his chair. He won’t do that. Solas deserves better.

***

When Dorian enters Solas’ room the elf doesn’t look up from his book.

“You’re ten minutes late, Dorian,” he says. There’s no judgment, or anger in the tone. It’s just a bland statement of fact. Dorian hovers behind his chair, hesitating. He wants nothing more than to take up his place kneeling on the pillow and pretend nothing has gone wrong. It would be so much easier. He squeezes his eyes shut.

“Dorian?”

“I lied to you,” Dorian says in a rush. Solas closes his book and turns to face Dorian with an arched eyebrow.

“Last night. You asked me if I knew what was wrong and I told you I didn’t. I lied.”

“I see,” Solas says. He rises and moves to stand in front of Dorian. The human stares at his own boots, not wanting to see Solas’ expression. “Why did you lie?”

“Telling the truth would have meant asking you something. I was afraid of what the answer would be.”

Dorian stands there, staring at the ground and waiting for Solas’ response. Waiting for him to sigh deeply and pinch the bridge of his nose. To hear him mutter to himself about how he should have known. To scoff angrily about wasted time. Instead he feels a gentle hand slide under his chin lifting his face to look at Solas. The disappointment he’d expected isn’t there, nor is there any anger just the usual calm.

“Do you remember your word?” he asks. Dorian frowns but nods, confused as to why that could possibly matter now. Solas returns the nod satisfied and releases Dorian’s chin. “Remove your pants and bend over the armrest of the chair.”

Dorian stares at him in shock.

“What?” he asks.

“If you do not wish to obey, use your word. If you do, you should not make me repeat myself,” the elf says, his voice still perfectly calm. Dorian just stands there frozen in shock. What does Solas intend to _do_ to him? How can he use the word and refuse after literally just now admitting that he’d broken the rules. Why is Solas even offering him the out? Surely whatever he means to do as revenge for the lie is justified whether Dorian would willingly surrender to it or not. Is this a test? Will he be told to leave if he refuses?

“Dorian,” the elf’s gentle voice breaks through his racing thoughts, and he lays a hand on Dorian’s shoulder. “Your watch word does not come with a caveat or a catch. You may use it at any time for any reason. That is what it’s for. I would not have you do this, or anything else, against your will.”

Dorian swallows thickly and reminds himself that he trusts Solas. The elf has never done anything to hurt him, despite multiple opportunities and he sounds nothing but sincere now. He nods and reaches for the fastenings of his pants. Solas backs up to give him room and Dorian slides the garment down his legs, stumbling and having to pause for a moment to unlace his boots when it gets caught on them before sliding everything off. He moves to the armrest of the chair and bends at the waist draping himself over it. He clutches at the fabric of the cushion at how vulnerable the position makes him feel. Solas’ hand slides over bare skin and trembles under the touch.

“That’s it,” Solas soothes him. “Have you ever been spanked Dorian?” The human squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head in response. Sweet Maker is that what Solas’ plan is? As though plucking the question directly from Dorian’s thoughts his next words answer it.

“That’s what I’m going to do to you now. Five for the lie and one for each minute you were late tonight. Fifteen in all. If at any point it becomes too much for any reason I want you to say your word. Can you do that for me?”

Fifteen sounds like so many but Dorian nods, determined to see this through.

“Alright,” the elf says. His nudges Dorian’s legs a little further apart so he’s leaning more heavily against the chair and his hand leaves Dorian’s skin. The human takes a deep breath and holds it waiting for the blow to fall. Long interminable moments pass and nothing happens. Dorian is forced to let his breath go and take another. The moment the waiting tension leaves his muscles Solas’ hand lands on him with a resounding crack.

Dorian gasps in shock and then cries out when the sensations catch up with him, a sharp sting followed by a spreading warmth. He’s still analyzing the unfamiliar feeling when the next blow lands renewing and intensifying it. He shouts again and as the pain fades into that warmth he’s shocked and somewhat appalled to feel his cock twitch against the fabric of the chair. He doesn’t have time to truly work himself up over the unexpected reaction however as Solas settles into rhythm that’s at just the right speed to allow the sensations from one blow to fade slightly before replacing them with the next. 

Each blow rocks Dorian’s hips against the armrest and mixes unexpected pleasure into the pain, but those physical feelings are almost completely secondary to what this is doing to Dorian _emotionally_. When Solas had told him to undress and stand like this, Dorian had expected cruelty, he’d expected revenge; for Solas to take his satisfaction for the lie and then, most likely, tell Dorian to leave and not come back. This isn’t that. This is punishment, yes, but not retaliation. It’s discipline, correction.

“I’m sorry!” The words come flying out of Dorian’s mouth and for a horrible moment he thinks he’s accidentally used the word before the meaning of the words hits him and then he can’t stop saying them. He repeats it with every hit, squeezing his eyes shut as tears begin to fall from them and clutching the cushion in his hands.

Then the next blow doesn’t come. Dorian realizes after a moment that it’s over and it tears a sob from his throat.

“Shhh,” Solas soothes him. The elf slides his arms around Dorian and pulls him up to stand before lowering them both to the ground so that he’s sitting on the Dorian’s pillow leaning back against the chair with the human on his lap. Dorian clutches at him and hides his face in Solas’ neck as his crying slows. Solas holds him close and runs his fingers through Dorian’s hair. 

“You did so well, Da’len. You were so good for me, such a good boy.” The words wash over Dorian like another caress. He’d never thought he’d hear anyone say that to him again and it draws one last sob from him.

As his crying comes to a stop Dorian becomes aware of the fact that he still has an erection and that Solas’ hand on his hip is _very_ close to it. He squirms slightly on the elf’s lap, blushing like fire and hoping against hope that he hasn’t noticed.

“It’s a normal and common reaction to such things, Da’len, there’s no need to be ashamed.”

No such luck. Dorian hides his face further in Solas’ neck and the elf’s hand goes from resting on his hip to stroking the skin there slightly. Dorian’s cock twitches and he makes a noise caught somewhere between desire and mortification.

“Do you want me to help you with that?” Solas asks. Dorian says nothing for a moment shocked that the elf would even offer. Solas had never seemed to want him that way. Still, he’s hard, aching, and still overwhelmed from the spanking and Solas is offering.

“Please,” he whispers into the elf’s neck. Solas lets out a happy sounding sigh.

“Such a sweet boy,” he whispers, and Dorian shivers.

Solas’ hand slides from Dorian’s hip to wrap around his cock and the human moans softly as he begins to stroke. The motions are slower and gentler than anything Dorian would use on himself but it feels so good. He’s already close, his hips thrusting falteringly into each pump of Solas’ wrist. He whimpers when the elf begins sliding his thumb over the tip at the apex of every stroke and clutches his hands in Solas’ shirt. This, of course, only serves to remind him that Solas is still completely clothed and Dorian all but whines at the thought.

“Such lovely noises you make, Da’len. I would hear how you sound in completion. Come for me, Dorian.”

That’s all he needs. The tension that had been gathering in Dorian’s stomach breaks in a white hot wave of sensation that makes his back arch and his toes curl. 

“That’s it,” Solas encourages. “Just let go, my beautiful boy.”

He cries out at the pleasure of it, spending himself into Solas’ still stroking hand.

He comes back to himself panting and trembling, his face still buried in Solas’ neck and the elf stroking his hair again.

“You did so well, Dorian. Such a well-behaved boy,” he says softly. Dorian shivers at the words and presses closer to him, exhausted in the aftermath of everything that happened tonight. “Rest now, Da’len. We will speak in the morning when you wake.”

Dorian doesn’t need to be told twice. He lets himself begin to drift off, the gentle press of lips to his hair the last thing he feels before he falls asleep.


	5. Escalation

Solas sighs as he strokes Dorian’s hair. The human looks so peaceful in sleep, careless and young. 

He hadn’t meant to make this sexual. Dorian needed direction, someone to care for him. The man’s worth had too often been considered dependent on his physical appearance and his sexuality, both by others and by himself. Solas had meant to keep this platonic for that reason, but Dorian had taken to his discipline so beautifully and been in such obvious want. Solas had found himself unable to deny him.

It’s possible he’s gotten in over his head. It’s been so long since he took a devoted, though he reminds himself firmly that is not what this is. Dorian has no idea who he truly is, and this must not be treated that way, Solas’ desire to devour the boy body and soul notwithstanding. He represses a decidedly un-elven like growl and goes back to his stroking.

Dorian stirs slightly and presses his face further into pillows, making a contented noise. Solas smiles at him. He slides his hand from Dorian’s hair down his neck, running feather light fingertips over the skin there. He’d left Dorian’s shirt on when he’d moved him to the bed despite the fact that the human would probably be more comfortable with it off. He hadn’t wanted Dorian to wake in a state of undress he hadn’t truly consented to, so most of his chest is hidden from Solas’ caresses. He slides his fingers over the man’s uncovered shoulder and that tantalizingly bare pectoral, smiling as goosebumps form on his skin in response. His fingers travel back up and down Dorian’s arm, the human shivering when he reaches the underside of his wrist.

“Solas?” comes a muffled voice from the pillows.

“Ah, forgive me. I didn’t mean to wake you,” Solas says, though he doesn’t stop his touches.

“What are you doing?” Dorian asks, his voice rough with sleep.

“Enjoying you,” Solas responds simply, sliding his hand, palm flat now, along Dorian’s chest from bare skin to covered. Dorian frowns.

“I’m not-,” he starts but Solas heads him off.

“You are exquisite.”

“Yes, I suppose I rather am,” Dorian says a faltering smirk replacing the frown.

“What have I said about hiding, Da’len?” Dorian’s mask slides off his face just as quickly as it formed.

“Sorry,” he says.

“You’re forgiven.” Solas says sliding his hand down to Dorian’s waist and stroking along the bare skin there. Dorian leans into the caress pressing back into Solas’ body and the elf kisses his hair gently in response. “There’s still something you must do for me, Da’len.”

Dorian turns to look at him, a question in his eyes.

“You told me you lied because of a question you did not wish to ask. What was the question?”

Dorian’s face falls.

“Do you remember what I said about trust, Dorian? What we have here will not work if you cannot trust me. What happened last night is proof of that.”

“I do trust you,” Dorian protests.

“With your body. With your pleasure, your pain, and your physical safety, and while I treasure that trust it is not all that is required. If this is going to work you must trust me with your mind also, with your emotional health, your hurt and your happiness.”

Dorian swallows thickly, looking away before nodding determinedly. His brave boy.

“Why are you doing this?” Dorian asks. “What do you get out of it?”

Solas blinks. That was… unexpected.

“Do you truly not know?”

Dorian arches an eyebrow rather imperiously and Solas laughs a little.

“Will you get up for me?”

“The sun isn’t even up yet, Solas,” Dorian says, dryly. Solas smiles at the snark, happy to see Dorian recovering his confidence.

“Humor me,” he responds. Dorian gives a put-upon sigh but begins to throw off the blankets.

“I suppose, if I must,” he says.

Solas climbs out of the bed and moves to stand behind him.

“Close your eyes and don’t open them until I tell you,” Solas orders, smiling when Dorian obeys immediately. He takes the human by the shoulders guiding him across the room to stand in the correct spot. “Kneel for me,” he says. Dorian lets out a small noise at the words and Solas’ smile widens.

“Open,” the elf commands once Dorian is situated. Dorian’s eyes slide open and he draws in a sharp breath. Solas has placed him right in front of the full length mirror hanging on his wall. Solas can see the human taking in the sight of himself kneeling on the floor, his own overwhelmed expression, and the elf standing next to him. Solas moves closer and meets Dorian’s eyes in the mirror. He slides a hand into Dorian’s hair and the human’s breath catches in his throat.

“This is what I get out of it, Dorian. You, like this, just for me,” Solas tells him softly. 

“I'm not- don’t deserve this,” Dorian whispers.

“That is not for you to decide.”

Dorian squeezes his eyes shut and presses his face into Solas’ side. Solas let’s him for a moment before taking his arm and pulling him back up to stand. He strokes along Dorian’s cheekbone with his thumb, drinking in the devoted expression on his face.

“Come, you should get some more rest.”

Dorian nods and follows pulling his shirt off as he goes. They climb back into bed and rather than facing the wall this time Dorian turns into Solas. The elf makes a contented noise and tucks Dorian’s heads beneath his chin, wrapping him in his arms.

***

Dorian wakes the next morning warm and more content that he can remember being in a long time. There are arms around him and his head is resting on someone’s shoulder. There’s a moment of confusion before he remembers what happened last night. He blushes furiously at the memory of the sight of himself, kneeling next to Solas while the elf stared down at him. When he’d asked the elf what was in this for him a simple, ‘you’, had not been the answer he’d been expecting.

“Mmm, good morning, Da’len,” Solas says softly. Dorian is about to return the greeting but his stomach makes itself known first, growling loudly. Dorian buries his face in the elf’s shoulder echoing the noise with a groan of humiliation. Solas merely chuckles.

“Hungry?” he asks.

“Obviously,” Dorian mutters.

“Did you eat anything last night?”

Dorian shakes his head. Solas tsks at him unhappily.

“M’sorry,” Dorian murmurs.

“It’s alright. I’m going to go fetch us something from the kitchen. Stay here.”

Dorian nods, making a discontented noise when Solas gets up out of the bed. He burrows further into the covers garnering another chuckle from the elf. There’s the sound of clothing shuffling and the door opening and closing and then Dorian is alone. He sighs and closes his eyes. It’s been so long since he allowed himself to linger in bed like this. He’s been so desperate to prove his worth to the inquisition, to show them he’s more than just a spoiled Magister’s son, or an actual Magister, here to spy on them and perpetrate other unspecified acts of evil. He’s not changing everyone’s mind, of course, he still hears whispers when he walks through the keep but the important people are starting to come around. Especially Solas apparently.

Unbidden his mind returns to the spanking and what came after. He hadn’t been expecting what it’d done to him. It’d felt so good, brief pain and spreading warmth, the sense of exposure and vulnerability, the knowledge that he was utterly at Solas’ mercy. Thinking about it makes him squirm in the bed, feeling himself start to stir. He wonders what Solas would do if he returned to find Dorian hard and wanting. Would he touch him again? Or had that been a one-time affair? Would Solas allow Dorian to touch him in return this time? The thought sends heat shooting through the human.

What would Solas be like? Would he be forceful or gentle? Would he be noisy? Dorian can’t imagine him being free with his moans but his words? Would he give Dorian directions, tell him how fast and how hard? Would he praise him like he had before? The human shivers under the thought and shifts against the bed, squeezing his eyes shut at the sensation of his sensitized skin sliding across the sheets.

There’s a touch to his shoulder and he jumps, spinning around to see Solas looking at him with an amused expression. He blushes at being caught humping the sheets like a hormone driven teenager, but Solas just chuckles a little.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” Dorian says.

“You were distracted,” Solas teases. He lays a tray on the bedside table and sits on the bed at Dorian’s side. The human stares at Solas’ smile. They haven’t kissed yet. It seems ridiculous given everything else they’ve done. He takes a breath and decides to change that. He leans in and presses his lips to the elf’s. Solas smiles into the kiss and returns it, putting a hand on the back of Dorian’s head and effortlessly taking over. He slides his tongue into Dorian’s mouth stroking and exploring and the human moans and surrenders to it.

Solas pulls away after a moment and Dorian attempts to follow but the other man pushes gently on his shoulder holding him back.

“You need to eat,” he says.

“Not hungry anymore,” Dorian argues with a smirk, trying and failing to lean back in.

“Do I need to tie you again, Da’len?”

Dorian makes a whimpering noise he will deny to his dying day and his cock gives a vigorous twitch that the sheet hides not at all. Solas chuckles and rises again.

“Stay,” he orders, before moving across the room to the chest in the corner. It’s the same one he’d pulled the rope from last time. The length he pulls out this time is slightly longer than before and he holds it up for Dorian to see as he walks back to the bed.

“Wrists together.”

Dorian obeys and Solas winds the rope around them securely before raising Dorian’s arms above his head and tying the rope off to the headboard. Dorian pulls and twists his hands but everything holds. His cock twitches again and his breath comes slightly faster. Solas runs his hand down Dorian’s bare chest and pushes the sheet off his waist and down his legs uncovering him. He stares at the human for a moment open appreciation on his face and Dorian squirms under his gaze. After a moment the elf reaches behind himself to the tray of food and picks up a strawberry slice pressing it to Dorian’s lips. Dorian opens his mouth and moans appreciatively as Solas feeds it to him.

Dorian closes his eyes and savors as Solas continues to feed him from the tray. The elf presses a grape past his lips and Dorian leans forward as far as he’s able licking at his fingers and briefly closing his lips around one of them before Solas pulls away. The elf chuckles reaching for the tray again.

Dorian suppresses a whine. He’s still hard, cock standing rigid and wanting against his stomach. Being hand fed is not helping. As much as Dorian jokes about being fed grapes it’s not something that’s ever actually happened. If he’d known it would be this arousing he’d have suggested it sooner. He tugs on the bindings again groaning at the reminder of how helpless he is. Solas presses another slice of fruit to his mouth, an apple this time, and he writhes as it passes his lips. Solas’ free hand runs idly across his chest and Dorian presses up into it, trying to encourage it towards more sensitive areas. 

Solas hums at him indulgently and runs a fingertip across Dorian’s nipple as he feeds him another slice of fruit. The human whimpers and tugs at the bonds again. Maker, he _wants_.

“Solas,” Dorian whispers.

“Shh,” Solas hushes him mildly, continuing to toy with the nipple, pinching and flicking at it gently as it hardens. “Don’t speak, just enjoy.”

Dorian’s enjoying alright. The pleasure burning in his belly and the taste of fruit on his tongue, Solas’ voice in his ears and the ropes around his wrists, it’s all so _good_.

Solas abandons the nipple under his fingertips moving to give the other the same attention. The noise that escapes Dorian this time is a full on groan, ragged and breathless.

“So lovely,” Solas whispers, pressing a slice of strawberry to the human’s lips. His fingers withdraw too quickly for Dorian capture them and the human whines. He wants something other than fruit in his mouth. He wants firmness and the taste of skin, sweat salty and stinging on his tongue. Dorian swallows his mouthful and has to bite his lip to keep from begging. He’s reduced to letting out little whines and moans, staring pleadingly at the elf, hoping his eyes can convey the words he’s been forbidden from saying.

“Look at you,” the elf says, eyes running over Dorian’s form. He moves his hand from Dorian’s chest down to stroke his stomach just above where Dorian needs it most. The human lets out a mewl and thrusts his hips trying to get friction, any touch on his aching skin. “So desperate, aren’t you?”

Dorian nods vigorously, his hips still rolling and little noises of want escaping him. Solas reaches for the tray again, but this time he holds the strawberry just out of Dorian’s reach and the human whines at the sight of something else so close that he can’t have. He strains toward it for a moment before falling back to the bed with a frustrated noise.

“Oh, my poor boy,” Solas says softly as Dorian looks at him entreatingly. “But still so well-behaved. Only begging with your beautiful eyes.” He moves the hand holding the fruit closer and Dorian accepts it, opening his mouth. The moment he bites down, juice bursting across his tongue the elf closes his hand around Dorian’s aching cock.

Dorian’s back arches and he moans his pleasure as Solas begins to stroke, slow but firm, twisting his wrist just right around the sensitive head. Dorian squeezes his eyes shut and presses his head back into the pillows. He’s so caught up he barely notices when Solas presses another slice of fruit to his lips.

Solas taps the fruit against his mouth impatiently.

“Open, Da’len,” he says firmly. Dorian whimpers, obeying, though after a slight pause. How can he be expected to eat while Solas is stroking him like that? Solas doesn’t care for Dorian’s distraction, though, continuing to pass him bits of fruit at regular intervals even as Dorian’s hips begin to thrust up into his hand and his moans rise in volume and urgency.

He’s so close. Just a little more.

Solas stops, his hand leaving Dorian’s cock to rest on his hip. Dorian cries out at the loss, writhing against the ropes and thrusting his hips raggedly. He was so close, he wouldn’t need much, just one little touch and he would fall over. After a moment of futile struggling Dorian feels the edge begin to slip away and he lets out a groan of denial.

“Shhh,” Solas soothes him again. Dorian makes a noise that he hopes conveys the question on his tongue. “You haven’t finished your breakfast, Dorian. Rewards come after a task is completed, not during.”

Dorian lets out a desperate noise and opens his mouth, waiting.

“Good boy,” Solas praises softly, reaching for the tray. As the food passes Dorian’s lips he begins stroking again and Dorian sobs in delight. This is by far the most decadent thing he’s ever experienced. Laying back while he’s fed and pleasured, helpless to do anything but accept the spoiling.

He’s not sure how long it goes on after that, time disappears in a haze of desire, but eventually Solas hands him an apple and says,

“Last one.”

Dorian all but lunges at the food, prompting a fond laugh from the elf, who quickens his strokes as Dorian swallows. The human thrashes against his ties as he nears his end again moaning desperately. His body tightens, coiling and tensing and Solas doesn’t stop just strokes and works him. Dorian draws in a breath and holds it, so close, almost there.

Solas runs his thumb in a slow circle around the head on the next upstroke and Dorian _breaks_. It hits him like a Fade Step, all motion and release of tension and momentary disorientation. He’s aware that he’s crying out but he can’t focus on anything but the bright white heat searing through and pulsing from his cock. It’s lasts forever and not long enough and it leaves Dorian shaking and panting.

Solas undoes the rope as Dorian recovers, if one even _can_ recover from an orgasm like that _sweet Maker_. He gathers the still trembling human in his arms and whispers to him soothingly. Dorian clutches at him.

“That was…,” he says before trailing off.

“The most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen,” Solas finishes for him, kissing the top of his head. “You are exquisite, Dorian.” An echo of his words from earlier. Dorian lets himself drift under the praise and the caresses and the languor filling him in the wake of his orgasm.

It isn’t until much later that he realizes he once again failed to reciprocate.


	6. Reciprocation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GAH I'm so sorry this took so long guys, real life kind of ate me. I'm hoping the fact that this chapter is literally 1800 words of porn will make up for it lol

It’s a few days before Dorian gets up the nerve to ask. Solas is always so reserved in their moments together. If he is aroused by what they do together he’s very good at hiding it. He never gives any indication that he wants more or to be touched in return and every time Dorian considers broaching the subject he finds himself worried about being brushed off. Solas certainly compliments Dorian often, telling him how good he looks, but he’s never shown anything beyond that aesthetic appreciation. Perhaps he simply doesn’t want more than what they’re doing now.

They’re next to the fire again, Solas reading and Dorian kneeling when he decides tonight is the night. He leans into Solas’ leg, a bit more heavily than usual and Solas runs gentle fingernails along Dorian’s neck and shoulders in response evoking a shiver from the man. Dorian takes a deep breath and, slowly, lifts a hand to rest on the other side of Solas’ knee, so that he’s essentially hugging the elf’s leg. Solas sighs softly and shifts a little but doesn’t move away from the touch or stop his own caressing. Somewhat emboldened, Dorian begins sliding his hand back and forth further up Solas’ thigh and then back to his knee. Occasionally, he turns his hand so that he’s running the tips of fingers and his nails along the elf’s leg through his pants. This earns a hum but nothing more. Dorian turns his face into Solas’ knee, nuzzling a little as he slides his hand further up Solas’ thigh nearing more interesting areas. 

Solas puts his own hand over the human’s halting the movement.

“Was there something you wanted?” he asks, amusement in his voice. Dorian nods turning to meet the elf’s eyes.

“When we’re together… you’ve never let me reciprocate. I want to touch you,” Dorian turns his face back into the other man’s knee, nuzzling slightly.

Solas eyes Dorian for a moment.

“Are you sure? This is not something I require of you.”

Dorian shifts sliding off the pillow so he’s kneeling between Solas’ legs.

“Please,” he says. Solas nods, smiling and releasing Dorian’s hand before he turns his attention back to his book. Oh Kaffas, is he really going to just…?

Dorian leans forward and presses his face to Solas’ groin sliding the bridge of his nose along the length of his cock through his pants. Solas sighs and his cock twitches but other than that there’s no reaction. He just keeps reading. Dorian groans at that, heat flashing through him. The thought of Solas reading above him stoic and unaffected while Dorian pleasures him making his own cock wake up and take notice of the proceedings.

Dorian mouths slowly at Solas’ growing erection sliding his tongue along it through cloth. Solas shifts slightly in the chair and his hand comes to rest in the human’s hair, not attempting to guide or control his movements just lying there, a gentle touch. Above him there’s the sound of a page turning and Dorian lets out a soft noise of need, finding the head of Solas’ cock through his pants and sucking as well as can. He grunts in frustration after a moment and pulls back moving his hands to the fastenings of Solas’ pants. He looks up at the elf to make sure it’s allowed but he’s still staring at his book. 

Dorian works the fastenings as quickly as possible with the way his hands are shaking. He pulls them down as well as he can without Solas lifting his hips to help him, his mouth practically watering as the elf’s cock slips free. He leans forward and takes the length in his hand, sliding his fingers along the base before licking a line up the underside along the vein. The warm flesh twitches under his touch, but Solas gives no other reaction.

Dorian’s eyes slide closed as he licks over the head savoring the taste. Fuck, he’s wanted this for so long. Unable to wait any longer he takes the head into his mouth, sucking in gentle pulses. He slides further down taking more into his mouth and lets out a small noise at the sensation. Solas is long and thick, filling him so well, taste of him salty and so good on his tongue. 

There’s still no reaction from the elf as Dorian bobs his head up and down and sucks. Occasionally, he shifts or the hand in Dorian’s hair briefly tightens but otherwise his attention remains completely on what he’s reading.

As though picking up the slack for Solas’ silence Dorian finds himself letting out little whines and moans around the cock in his mouth. He squeezes his eyes shut bobbing his head faster and moaning at the feel of Solas’ cock sliding between his lips and along his tongue. On the next suck a small bit of precome pulses from the tip and Dorian groans sliding his tongue along the head and savoring the taste. He sucks harder wanting more of it. Solas’ hips jerk under him and Dorian whines desperately as he’s suddenly struck by the thought of Solas tightening his grip on his hair and holding him still as he fucks his mouth. Maker, he wants that, he wants more of Solas’ taste and the feel of him hard and twitching over his tongue.

His own hips have started rocking, and he shifts forward slightly so that he’s pressed to the front of the chair between Solas’ legs. He moans at the sensation, pleasure sparking along his spine. He gets in two solid thrusts before Solas shifts, putting his foot between Dorian’s hips and the fabric and pushing him back. Dorian whines around the elf’s cock at being denied and looks up at Solas hoping to convey his need with his eyes. The elf is looking down at him now, but he simply shakes his head.

“Reward comes after a task is completed, Dorian,” he says repeating his words from the last time they’d done something like this, voice slightly strained. Dorian shudders at the memory of being restrained and fed and teased.

He redoubles his efforts on Solas’ cock sucking harder and sliding his mouth up and down faster, his tongue stroking along the most sensitive places. Solas’ breathing picks up, just audible over Dorian’s near constant stream of noises.

Dorian moves down on Solas’ cock until the head bumps the back of his throat and groans. Fuck, he wants. He takes a deep breath and carefully swallows the elf down feeling the hard flesh slide into his throat. His own cock kicks in his pants, aching for any kind of touch and straining against the cloth trapping it. His voice is finally silenced with Solas’ cock blocking his air and in the quiet he hears Solas let out a noise for the first time, a soft pleasured grunt. Dorian pulls back enough to whine and take another deep breath before swallowing the elf down again. 

Solas’ fingers tighten in his hair and Dorian shivers at the slight tug. He can feel Solas’ thighs tensing and relaxing under his hands and the elf’s hips shift up again.

Dorian pulls up again, filling the room with his renewed moans before sliding back down. Solas groans again and his left hand joins his right in Dorian’s hair. The human shudders at the knowledge that he’s finally distracted Solas from his book.

“Good boy,” Solas murmurs. “Generous boy.” He slides one hand from Dorian’s hair and across his cheekbone before tapping two fingers under the human’s chin. “Up, catch your breath.”

Reluctantly, Dorian releases Solas from his throat going back to sucking and licking and he pants for breath, an action only made more difficult by the constant noises he can’t seem to keep himself from making.

“Listen to you,” Solas says. “Do you enjoy this so much?”

Dorian makes a fervent noise and nods as well as he can with his mouth full of the elf. Solas gives a small smile before leaning his head back against chair.

“Well then,” he says breathlessly. “I suppose I’ll have to indulge you often. It will be a hardship, _nng_ , but I’ll find a way to endure.”

Dorian breathes a small laugh around his mouthful and pinches Solas’ thigh. The elf jumps and lets out a startled noise before tightening his fingers in Dorian’s hair and pulling slightly.

“Behave, Da’len. Disobedient boys don’t get rewards.” Dorian makes a desperate noise and strokes the skin under his fingers apologetically. Solas’ answering laugh is swallowed by a groan. “ _Oh_ , I’m close.”

Dorian groans eagerly pulling up to focus his attention on the head stroking what is no longer in his mouth. Solas gasps and tenses under the human, cock twitching hard before he lets out a cry and comes in Dorian’s waiting mouth.

The taste floods across the human’s tongue and he groans desperately in response, swallowing it all down and continuing suck until Solas tugs on his hair pulling him back.  
Dorian licks his lips looking up at the elf and Solas smiles. He motions for Dorian to join him on the chair and the human climbs up and settles himself on the elf’s lap.

Solas leans in and presses their mouths together. Dorian falls into the kiss nipping at the elf’s lips and sucking on his tongue. Solas pulls back with a hum leaning their foreheads together.

“Thank you, Da’len,” he says as though Dorian’s given him some kind of gift. Dorian frowns but before he can say anything Solas undoes the ties on Dorian’s pants and wraps his hand around Dorian’s aching cock. The Tevinter shivers and thrusts into the touch.

“Yes, please,” he whispers and Solas soothes him with a soft sound.

“You’ll have what you need, Dorian,” he promises, beginning to stroke. It doesn’t take long. Dorian presses close to him squeezing his eyes shut and panting under the touch. Sparks of pleasure shoot up his spine and after only a few precise strokes Dorian cries out sharply, peaking hard. He turns his face into Solas’ shoulder, riding it out and clutching the elf as it wracks him.

Solas sighs contentedly as Dorian recovers, stroking the human’s hair. When Dorian pulls back to look at the elf he’s studying his hand which is covered in the human’s spend. Dorian shivers and stares licking his lips unconsciously. Solas arches an eyebrow and holds his hand out in offer. Dorian all but lunges, licking up the trails of come on his palm before taking the fingers into his mouth and sucking them clean, the taste of himself on the elf’s skin filthy and delicious.

“I’ll remember this,” Solas murmurs when he pulls away. Dorian blushes and coughs awkwardly, embarrassment over how he acted this evening catching up with him. He shifts so the he’s sitting sideways across the elf’s lap and leaning into him.

“I’m not sure if that was a threat or a promise,” he says. Solas chuckles as he picks his book back up.

“Yes,” he says, prompting an answering laugh from Dorian.


	7. Introspection I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is broken into parts for pacing and also because I was worried it would get enormously long. So this bit is shorter than usual. Hope you enjoy!

Dorian sighs and snuggles into the covers. The room is dark except for the moonlight filtering in through the window and Dorian knows he should be asleep. They’re leaving for the Hinterlands tomorrow and Dorian knows the ride will be hell with the cold and the snow alone, he doesn’t need to add a sleepless night.

It’s also the first time he and Solas have been out in the field since they started this… whatever it is. He’s not sure how that’s going to affect things. Obviously, they’re not going to be doing anything… intimate on the road, but will they go back to how they were before? They were hardly acquaintances before this all started.

Dorian shifts again burying his face in the pillow. He has no idea what to call this thing between them but he knows it’s been helping him. He feels more secure, like he knows what his place in skyhold is. He’s being friendlier with the advisors and the Inquisitor and the rest of her inner circle. He has regular chess matches with Cullen and when he drinks now it’s not to lose himself in the haze of alcohol alone but to enjoy himself with the Bull and the Chargers. The thought of having Solas spend the entire trip treating him like someone he barely knows and hardly tolerates makes his skin crawl.

Dorian turns around so that he’s facing the elf. He wishes he could read him better. It’s obvious Solas cares for him at least a little, or he wouldn’t have started this in the first place. He was clear that he was doing this to help Dorian, because he thought Dorian needed it. At first Dorian had been skeptical but now he was forced to admit the elf had been right. He doesn’t want to lose it, not even for a fortnight. He presses closer to the elf and Solas sighs, wrapping Dorian up in his arms.

“Difficulty sleeping?” he asks. Dorian nods.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“That’s alright,” Solas answers, his voice soft in the dark. They’re both silent for a few moments, Solas running his fingers through Dorian’s hair. “Would you like me to tell you a story?”

For a moment Dorian thinks he’s being mocked but the elf _sounded_ serious enough.

“I’m not a child,” he protests.

“I never said you were. Simply restless.” They fall into silence again.

“If I did want to hear this story,” Dorian says after a moment. “Hypothetically, of course, how would it go?”

“Hypothetically?” Solas asks teasingly.

“Yes, just as a theoretical exercise.”

“Hypothetically,” Solas says. “It would be about a wolf.”

Dorian frowns.

“This wolf doesn’t eat any children does it? I grew up with enough of those stories, I doubt they’ve gotten any more palatable since the onset of adulthood.”

“No, he doesn’t eat anyone. Wolves are very misunderstood creatures, Dorian.”

“Ah, I see,” Dorian says indulgently. “Well then, hypothetically, if you were going to tell me this story, what _would_ this canine paragon of misunderstood virtue do?”

“This wolf was mischievous. He loved a good joke and enjoyed nothing more than playing tricks. But he loved his people very much, and though he might play tricks on them it was only to teach them, so they might learn. Never to hurt them.” Solas said, his voice strangely serious. As his words continued Dorian found himself relaxing, drifting to the sound of the low soothing tones. 

“I think I like this wolf,” he murmured into Solas’ shoulder just before he fell asleep. He could have sworn he heard Solas answer,

“He likes you as well, Da’len,” before he drifted off completely. 

That night he had strange dreams. Visions of running barefoot through fields and deep woods, laughing with a freedom he’d rarely known, the distant howling of wolves echoing through the air. And of a many eyed form watching him from the shadows, just out of sight, but always present.


	8. Introspection II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeeeeeeeey I finished it!! I was hoping I would.   
> Okay guys you've been getting the fluff so here's the angst. Enjoy!

Solas laughs a little as Dorian complains about the cold again.

“Perhaps if you wore actual clothing, you wouldn’t be so cold,” he teases. Dorian affects a startled jump looking over at Solas with exaggerated surprise.

“Ah, Solas, you startled me! You’re always so… non-descript,” Dorian shoots back with a toothy smile.

“Please, speak up,” The elf deadpans. “I cannot hear you over your outfit.” Dorian gives a thrilled little laugh and the elf can’t help but smile. It had been obvious that Dorian had had no idea how to act around him once they’d left Skyhold’s walls. He’d spent the first day or so tip-toing around the elf, only occasionally attempting to engage him in conversation and even then only halting awkward things which sputtered out as quickly as they started. It was good to see him regain his equilibrium.

Solas chuckled to himself softly as he watched Dorian usher his horse forward to ride between the Inquisitor and Iron Bull. Solas was too far back to hear the details of their conversation but the Bull’s booming laughter could probably be heard for miles.

Looking back it was almost amusing now, to think that he’d thought he’d be able to do this with Dorian without either of them growing attached. Dorian liked to put on an air of irreverence when it came to his romantic and sexual attachments but that was simply another mask and Solas should have seen through it sooner.

More amusing though was the way he’d completely failed to see through himself. He’d told himself he was doing this for Dorian, to help him. That he had no motive beyond the simple fact that he believed he could be good for the man. He failed to see how good the man would be for him as well. He’d been alone for a very long time, he’d forgotten what it was like to have this sort of companionship. He looks fondly at the other mage. He hadn’t stood a chance really.

As they’re riding under a tree a clump of snow slides from a branch and lands directly on Dorian’s bare shoulder. The Tevinter squawks and in his attempt to escape the cold he nearly overbalances and falls from his horse entirely.

“Vishante Kaffas!” he yells brushing at his arm and then shaking out his cold hand.

“That would be why the rest of wear sleeves, Dorian,” Solas teases.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like the view, Solas. Though I would understand if it’s too distracting for you,” the human gave him a saucy wink and Solas shook his head rolling his eyes fondly.

Lavellan was looking back and forth between the two of them with curious eyes.

“Is there something I should know?” she asks. Dorian sputters and Solas pinches the bridge of his nose. He would rather have spoken to Dorian before allowing this to become public knowledge but there’s not exactly any denying it now. The Iron Bull laughs loudly.

“Good for you two,” he says cheerily. Solas sighs gustily and glances over at Dorian. The man smiles at him shakily and Solas just shakes his head again.

***

Dorian is an idiot. A certifiable idiot. What was he thinking? ‘Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy the view’? Might as well shout to all present that they’re fucking. He winces slightly. Neither the Inquisitor nor Iron Bull had reacted badly to the knowledge and Dorian isn’t blind. Things are different here, there’s less stigma attached to… those sorts of relationships but Solas had never indicated he wanted anyone knowing. Dorian shifts uncomfortably. The elf hadn’t said much after the incident and Dorian had been too worried over his blunder to try engaging him in conversation. What if the elf brushed him off?

Dorian has no context at all for this sort of relationship. It’s so different from anything he’s had before. They spend the night together, just sleeping. Sometimes they even break their fast together if neither of them has anywhere to be. Solas _read him a bedtime story_ for the Maker’s sake. 

They talk about things together, everything from magical theory to politics and unlike their early attempts at discourse their debates stay civil. They’re friends and Solas has never seemed ashamed of him. If anything it’s the opposite.

“So you and the ‘Vint, huh?”

Dorian turns in the direction of the Bull’s voice and finds him sitting next to Solas at the fire elbowing him playfully in the side. Solas sighs.

“Dorian and I have an arrangement, yes,” Solas says.

“An arrangement?” Lavellan asks. “You make it sound like a business transaction.”

“Yes, well, while we’re on the matter of business I don’t see how this is any of yours,” the mage replies testily. Dorian flinches.

“Sorry,” Bull says, seriously. “We’ll let it go, right boss?” Lavellan nods frowning.

“I didn’t mean to upset you, Solas,” she says.

“It’s fine, Da’len. If you’ll excuse me I think I’ll retire.”

“Sleep well,” Lavellan calls after him.

“And you.”

Dorian watches him as he crosses camp to his tent. He closes the flap firmly in a way that clearly reads ‘Keep Out’.

“Well, that went well,” Lavellan says. Bull frowns.

Dorian looks down at his hands. None of their business. He is angry. He reaches up and runs a hand through his hair. ‘An arrangement’ he’d said. 

_“You make it sound like a business transaction.”_

He wants to follow Solas, tell him how sorry he is, but the elf clearly wants to be left alone. What had he been thinking? Dorian hadn’t even discussed this with him before he’d all but come out and admitted to their relationship in front of Bull _and_ the Inquisitor.

No. Not a relationship. An arrangement. Dorian squeezes his eyes shut. What had he been thinking? 

He stands and stares at Solas’ tent for a long moment before shaking his head and retiring to his own. The last thing the elf probably wants right now is for Dorian to _walk into his tent_ in front of everyone. He’ll make this right though. Solas will forgive him. He will.


	9. Communication

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this is it guys! The end. It's been fun and thanks for reading!
> 
> But fret not! This story and this pairing will not leave me alone. This is going to become a multi-fic series so keep your eyes out for the first chapter of the next part :D

Dorian is absolutely miserable. He slept horribly all night, and there’d been no time to get Solas alone before they’d broken camp. They still had another day or so before they reached their destination and he won’t have a chance to try again until this evening. The mage hangs back in the group not wanting to hover next to Solas obtrusively the entirety of the journey. He lets the conversations and the scenery drift into the background and focuses on figuring out what he’s going to say. 

They’ll need privacy, he’s probably going to have to follow Solas into his tent. He’ll need to get the first part of his apology out quickly then before the elf tells him to leave. He runs through scenarios in his head planning what he'll say and how. He isn’t sure what Solas will demand in return for his forgiveness, but whatever it is he’ll give it. And he will be more careful this time. He’s good at this sort of thing, in spite of what this blunder would suggest. There’s no undoing the damage of Lavellan and Bull’s assumptions but he could keep others from coming to the same onerous conclusions. 

He’s so caught up in his planning that he completely misses the concerned looks the rest of the group is sending him. Occasionally one of them will attempt to get him to talk but he responds only with hums and, when necessary, one word answers. By the time evening has set in and they’ve stopped for the day, Dorian has something like a cohesive plan. He volunteers to take care of the mounts, which puts him at the edge of camp and gives Solas space as he helps set up the tents. After dinner he’ll follow Solas when he retires and explain himself.

At least that was the plan.

“Da’len?” comes a soft voice from behind him. Dorian jumps, nearly spooking the horse he’s unsaddling and turns to see Solas standing behind him. Oh, no. “May we speak?”

Dorian swallows thickly. There’s only one reason Solas would seek him out first.

“Can I explain?” he asks quietly. Solas frowns and Dorian’s heart sinks. “I understand if you don’t wish to continue this, but please at least allow me to apologize.”

The elf lets out a string of elven that, from the tone, can only be curses, before crossing the distance between them and taking hold of Dorian’s shoulders.

“Dorian, no,” he says before letting out a frustrated noise. “Forgive me, I should have known you would react like this.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Dorian tells him, utterly confused. “I’m the one who threw discretion to the wind.” 

“Yes, I did,” Solas argues. “I should have spoken to you last night. Come.” The elf takes Dorian by the hand and Dorian tenses immediately glancing over to see if Bull or Lavellan are looking. They’re not, but they could turn around any minute. Dorian starts to pull his hand away, but Solas tightens his grip.

“It’s alright, Dorian,” he says and gives Dorian’s hand a tug. He follows the elf through the trees and away from the camp until Solas deems them far enough away and stops.

“Whatever you think happened yesterday is not what happened, Dorian,” he says his voice serious. Dorian opens his mouth to protest but Solas interrupts him. “No, please let me finish.” When Dorian nods the elf continues, “I am not upset that the others are aware that we're lovers.”

“You certainly seemed upset at camp,” Dorian says.

“I was, but not with you.” Solas steps closer, taking Dorian’s face in his hands gently. “What we have is very important to me, Dorian. I wanted to make sure you were comfortable discussing it with them before I did so. That’s why I was uncomfortable with their questions. And then to hear Lavellan refer to it as a business transaction.” 

He gives another frustrated huff. 

“That was perhaps my fault for the way I attempted to fend off her curiosity, but it still upset me. I should have explained this last night, if I had known then what you were thinking I would have. Forgive me?”

There’s a moment where all Dorian can do is stare.

“I- yes,” he finally stammers out. Solas smiles stroking his face.

“Thank you. Now I think there’s something more we should talk about. It’s a bit overdue.” 

Dorian frowns curiously and Solas gestures to fallen log. They both sit and the elf takes his hand again. 

“I care for you very deeply, Dorian. I’ll be honest, when we started this, I wasn’t looking for that, but I can’t bring myself to regret it. There are things about me you do not know. Being with me may not always be easy, but if you would have me, I would be yours.”

“I- are you… asking me for a _relationship_?” Dorian asks skeptically. After what he’d spent all day imagining he can hardly believe his ears. Solas gives him a small smile.

“I believe we have one of those already, Da’len, but yes.”

Dorian blinks rapidly before recovering himself.

“Well, I’m simply not sure,” he says stuffily. “You have, after all, ruined a perfectly good apology. I spent all day planning it, Amatus. There was going to be groveling.” Solas laughs, leaning in close to the human.

“There can still be groveling, if that makes any difference,” he whispers, huskily. Dorian shivers.

"I suppose I can forgive you then, since I am so magnanimous and generous- _ah!_ ”

Solas cuts him off by fisting a hand in his hair and tugging, before swooping in and pressing their lips together. Dorian makes a contented noise and leans into the kiss.


End file.
